


The Incredible SuperStarks

by crossingwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Gen, This just sidled into my brain on the train the other day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks Welcome First Child.  Are We in for the Next Generation of Superheroes?  More at 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Incredible SuperStarks

Rickon was easy. She fireproofed everything.

*

_The Incredible SuperStarks’ youngest burns the Flayers to the ground.  Read more on A4._

*

"I can't sew his legs back, Ned," sighed Cat, looking at Bran through the window of the hospital room. She didn't realize she was crying until Ned brushed her tears away.

He pulled her into his chest. "You'll think of something," he said, "you always do."  She looked up into Ned’s sad grey eyes.  Smudges in the shape of his super-mask framed his eyes, and she wept even harder that for all his tremor-summoning, he hadn’t been able to stop it, stop Bran from falling through the air and breaking on the ground.

She tried and tried and tried and couldn't think of anything. What could you do for a boy who could move things with his mind? Especially when, after the nerves to his legs had been severed, the range of his telekinesis increased? What extra protection could you offer him? What extra protection could you give him when you'd already failed?

It was Bran, kind, clever Bran, who gave her the answer. "I don't need anything special. Not really," he said, "but i could use a lining for my chair...to make it more comfortable..."

So Cat had knit like a fiend, adding as much of it as she could so that her Bran would be comfortable again. 

*

_Summer Streak: The Broken Boy Wonder Stops the Winter Ones in Their Tracks._

*

Arya was easy and it surprised her. She would have thought that Arya would be the hardest, given how much trouble it was to get the girl to look after Rickon, do her homework, or bathe. It was hard getting Nymeria _—_ as they called her over Arya's grumbled protestations that that was _not_ her proper superhero name, which was my too complicated and involved something silly with "mirrors" and "near" to the extent that "Nymeria" was actually the easier option—to do anything because if you dropped your guard for a second, the girl would vanish.

Arya was easy because Lysa could also turn invisible, and the number of times Cat had found a pile of clothes on the floor of their shared bedroom and known that Lysa was prancing around, naked and invisible somewhere…Cat did _not_ like the idea of Arya running (and fighting, god help them) the streets of the city buck-naked.

So she’d stopped buying Arya clothes and had made them instead, weaving it into the fabric on the loom, into the seams on her sewing machine, down to every last corner.

Arya had given her the biggest hug when she’d given the girl a bundle of clothes and underwear to get started with.

Jon and Robb had both laughed themselves sily, of course, only putting it together then that Arya had been fighting naked.

“Still better at it than either of you,” she snapped, but they just laughed and laughed and laughed until Arya did too. 

*

_Nymeria, the Faceless Fright Routs the Mountain’s Men._

*

Sansa was the challenge, moreso than any of the others.

Sansa, whenever they all went out together, made her own protection, locking eyes with any of their enemies and striking them dumb with the force of her gaze and bending them to her will until she let them out of their hypnosis.

“You know,” intoned Ned in the garden one morning, his hands and knees covered in dirt from the peach tree he was planting, “you’re making yourself crazy.”

“What would you recommend I do?  I can’t very well break out my needles and hooks in the middle of a battle the way you hop up and down and the earth begins to tremble.  I have to anticipate, Ned.  And I don’t like having to anticipate this sort of thing.”

“I know, I know.”  Ned’s forehead scrunched.  “Look, Sansa’s a defensive-offensive unit.  Why not enhance her presence on the field?  She can handle it.  Might even save Robb or Arya at some point.”

Cat gritted her teeth.  As much as she hated it; as much as she wished that Ned had shut up and let her stew, he was right; as much as she hated throwing more attention to her sweet Sansa, she made Sansa a headband, a linen circlet which dipped down between Sansa’s entrancing blue eyes, drawing enemies to their own incapacity.

*

_Lady’s Piercing Gaze Saves the Eyrie from Ruination—Littlefinger Still at Large_

*

It was mostly to please Ned that she made new laces for Jon’s sneakers. She might have done it anyway _—_ but she wasn't sure.  She didn't think she could mother Ned's bastard quite that much, without her husband's gentle prompting.

Ned may have insisted that Jon had a brain to match his super-speed, but he also had the same teenage impulses that Robb did, combined with a thirst to prove himself.  When he came home from racing Robb—neck and neck he had declared proudly to Arya even though he’d been earthbound—and the canvas was peeling away from the soles.  She knew that she’d have to do _something_.  So she’d put it in his laces, so he could transfer it from shoe to shoe, something that would let him run over water, jump further and, for good measure, keep him from twisting, spraining, or breaking his ankles.  (His knees, on the other hand, those he’d have to take care of on his own.)

Jon knew straight-off what she’d done, and even had the decency to thank her, stiffly, since apparently it protected the tiny bones of his feet from breaking from the impact with which they struck the ground.  She hadn’t thought of that and hadn’t known how to reply, and the bastard slipped away, fearing her displeasure.  She noticed after that his white laces were always spotless and she wondered if he didn’t clean them by hand.  She wondered what the magazines would say: Ghost reduced to washing his shoelaces at night.

 *

_Ghost Runs Circles Around Stormborn._

*

She sewed it into the hem of Robb’s thick grey cape when he came to manhood.  He would, after all, need something to keep him warm as he soared through the sky, looping around clouds and falling plummeting towards the earth just to show that he could catch himself.  What was a little insulation, after all, when her boy didn’t have a cushion of stagnant warm air around him to keep him warm?  And what if that little extra insulation was maybe bullet proof?  Surely that was all right?

Robb didn’t even notice, but Ned did.

“He’ll think it’s him,” sighed her husband over the newspaper while she finished knitting booties for Lysa’s child.  “It’ll make his head big.”

“He can fly, Ned.  His head’s going to be big either way.”

Ned chuckled as he turned the newsprint and muttered a curse at something he found there.

She felt justified in doing it when Robb came home one day with scratches on his face and singes of darker grey on the silk cape.  Throwing himself into the armchair across from where Cat sat quietly embroidering, he looked at her with dog-tired eyes.

“You were on the news,” Cat said at last.  “I saw your spat with Toll Man.”  Saw was really an understatement.  She’d screeched bloody murder at the television until Grey Wind had taken to the skies in defeat, bullets ricocheting off his back as if they were spitballs.

“I lost.”  Robb sounded wholly miserable.

“Yes,” Cat said, “But you’re alive and you’ll end them some other time.”

“Yes.  I will,” growled Robb, his hands balling into fists.

“Good.  Now go pick up your brother.”

“What?” yelped Robb, “Mom! I’ve had a rough day!”

Catelyn raised one eyebrow at him and, grumbling he stood up, shedding the cape.  He cast her a wary eye.  “I guess it’s ruined?” at least he had the decency to sound sheepish.

“Leave it with me.  I’ll fix it.”  When he nodded, she knew he knew, and that was enough.

*

_Grey Wind Returns; The North Remembers._


End file.
